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Ducking my face, I hurry to open the door to my studio and put some space between us. I’m suddenly nervous to show him this sacred part of myself, and even more nervous for what I’m about to do.
He takes in the white-walled room, the piles of folders on the small desk, my headphones, recording equipment, and finally, my electric keyboard.
“It’s not much, but it’s mine.” I cross to the bench while he props his shoulder against the doorframe.
“Well, you drug me all the way here. You may as well play me something,”
“Right.” I nibble the corner of my lip, intending to do just that.
After dropping my bag at my feet, I remove the old folder I snuck from the bookcase and open it to find the song titled James with his mother’s signature neatly scrawled at the bottom of the page.
Our conversation last night may have left me guarded and confused, but listening to Rowan speak so fondly of his parents gave me an idea.
Now that I know the folder belonged to Amelia, I have an opportunity to give him the same connection to the afterlife that I experience every time I step inside Mom’s shop.
I clip the pages to the stand in front of my keyboard. My fingers tremble at first, but as I move through the first chorus of the song, I relax and lose myself in the complex and beautiful notes.
As nervous as I am to be playing it for him now, I’m honored to give him a piece of her.
A rush of goosebumps peppers my skin, and I’m prepared for the tears burning the backs of my eyes to release, but Rowan startles me by uttering a gritty, “Stop.”
The command brings my fingers to a jarring halt, and he crosses the room in as little as two strides before yanking the sheets from the stand.
“Where did you get this?” he demands, frantically scouring the page. His body turns rigid when he spots his father’s name, scrolled in Amelia’s feminine cursive. “Did you go upstairs when I deliberately asked you not to?”
I shrink beneath his livid gaze. “No, I swear. I-I found it on the bookshelf in the living room.” Reaching for my bag, I try to explain. “There’s a folder with songs she must have practiced when she lived there.”
His eyes are piercing when he looks at me, his tone chilling. “You’re never to play this song again. Not here, not at the manor, not ever. Do you understand?”
My excitement deflates. “Rowan?—”
“Do you understand!” he shouts, making me jump in my seat.
“Yes! Yes. I’m sorry. I understand,” I breathe each word quickly while looking at the floor between my feet.
Blood whirs in my ears as my heart hammers.
“It’s time to go.” He folds the papers up before stuffing them inside his pocket, and where earlier he’d given me fire, now I’m freezing cold.
I watch as Rowan steps into the hall, leaving me staring at the empty doorway in a room now suffocatingly silent.
Chapter Sixteen
Molly
I shoot a text to Piper, who’s waiting on the veranda to impersonate a therapist for our counseling session.
Go time?
Despite being reclusive and unapproachable after our trip into town two days ago, Rowan had the nerve to put me in charge of scheduling an appointment with a marriage counselor, and not only that, he informed me by email.
I trashed the stupid thing before I could respond with something snarky that would only lead to more awkward silence at the dinner table. But as luck would have it, Piper’s aunt is a licensed therapist, and she was able to swipe a stamp with her aunt’s signature from her office over the weekend.
Illegal? Probably, but I figure it won’t matter once Rowan and I are officially divorced.
Piper
Let’s do this
